The Replacement
by lostinquinntanawonderland
Summary: A new bassist has been found to replace Puck and complete the band. Will she be able to take someone's place in the vocalist's heart, too? Quinntana.
1. Chapter 1

How long does it take to fall in love?

For some people, a year is too short. Others may find weeks, or even days, long enough. No, scratch that, we even created the frequently-used phrase, "love at first sight". But if we'll go all nerdy and consider the "biochemistry of love", science would actually give us the answer.

One-fifth of a second.

That's how fast our brain can decide whether or not a person is our potential mate.

And that's exactly how fast it felt when I fell for a certain blonde.

From the moment I laid my eyes on her, I swear everything just clicked. My dream, my destiny, my soulmate—after one-fifth of a second, I was sure it was her, that she's everything I need.

Well, maybe I fell in love too fast. Maybe a fifth of a second was just not enough.

But I fell, anyway, and she fell for me just the same. And it felt good, just the thought of having a requited love. I repeat, it _felt_ good.

Eight years. That's exactly how long our happiness lasted. For eight years, everything felt perfect, but then again, good things just don't last.

After four years of being together, we've decided to ditch college, marry, and try our luck in New York. We may have had some difficulty surviving since the only job we could find then was at a club, and the salary of bartenders was not high; but then we were in love and we had a baby in the way—she carried it—so nothing really mattered then.

But, of course, our relationship can't be perfect. We had trouble with the child, and we were frustrated since our demo CD's never got us anywhere near our dreams. So when we had a fight for the first time, I was sure we were going nowhere but a dead-end. Still, I loved her, and I knew I'd do anything to fix us. I knew we just both needed some time and space.

And if only fate didn't hate me so much, I _would have_ fixed us.

If only I didn't go out to drink that night. If only I weren't drunk as hell when I returned home to see her sitting on the front door, waiting for me. If only I were on the right mind then when she held my hand and told me she was sorry. If only I didn't pull my hand away and push her aside. If only I were sober enough to at least look back at her instead of ignoring her sobs and locking myself up in my room. If only I didn't break her heart that night.

She wouldn't have packed her bags. She wouldn't have left me with our child. She wouldn't have cried when she left me a note about how she wanted to give me more space to think about us, about how she wanted to get back to Lima so that she'll be right home if I'll ever tell her I wanted us to be over.

She wouldn't have been on that flight back to the place I'm sure she never would have thought she'd ever see again. She wouldn't have been on that plane, that plane that crashed because of a broken engine.

I would have had apologized for everything. I would have told her how much I loved her, how much I needed her, that she and my child are my life. She would have been here right next to me, her head resting on my shoulder and her fingers interlaced with mine. We would have grown old together, watching our child say her first words, take her first steps, react about her first day of school, blush as she goes out with her date on her first prom, accept her diploma, live her dreams, and make us proud.

If only she were still here, I wouldn't be here feeling like the loneliest person in the world. I wouldn't have spent the last year feeling guilty about being the cause of her and our child's death. I wouldn't have been mourning the whole time, I would have managed to smile even for once. I would have been right inside the house which used to be filled with laughter, with joy, with contentment. I would have jumped for joy when my efforts finally paid off and I've got a contract as a band vocalist. She would have been happy for me; she would have even been a lot happier than I ever could be. She would have supported me, she would have been my greatest fan.

I wouldn't be here, standing like an idiot, all because our new bassist reminded me of her. I wouldn't have felt sick when they found a blonde as a replacement for our band mate who had to quit because he wanted to go back to college, a blonde who's as attractive as my wife was.

I wouldn't have my mouth slightly open and my hands evidently trembling as the blonde in front of me extends her own hand for me to shake.

If only I were still with Brittany.

* * *

**AND NO, THIS IS NOT A BRITTANA ONESHOT. Haha. Just sayin'. Wait for more, 'kay? Love you all. :***

**Ktnxbye. **


	2. Chapter 2

I drop my bag and lazily drop myself down on the couch, too. I huff and cross my arms before looking at our drummer.

"So, where's our new bassist?" I ask him as I prepare myself for the worst. The thing is I don't really trust Finn, but he's the only one who was willing to spend his time looking for a replacement to take Puck's place, which he left when he quit because he wanted to go back to college. But then again, I still trust him more than our manager.

Speaking of which…

"And where the hell is Abrams?"

"With the bassist who's getting ready to meet our meticulous vocalist," Joe, our lead guitarist, answers for Finn as he walks into the room.

"He better be hot," I smirk as I sink deeper into the chair.

"Oh, _she_ is," Sam, the froggy-lipped guitar player, butts in as the door opens again.

I feel my heart stop at Sam's statement before I turn around to face the doorway.

_Brittany?_

"And finally, you get to meet Santana," Artie says to the girl next to him.

"Really?" The girl says as she brushes her blonde hair away from her face to reveal a soft smile and the greenest eyes I've ever seen.

_Oh._

"San, meet Quinn, our new bassist," Artie chants with a proud smile as he guides Quinn towards me. Normally, I would have countered with a "stop calling me San", if only I could find my voice.

"Pleasure to finally meet you," Quinn tells me with a huge grin, extending her right hand towards me—which I awkwardly just stare at.

_The blonde hair._

_That smile._

_Her jollity._

_I've seen those before…_

"Are you okay?" Quinn takes me back to reality. I feel myself jump a little before I notice that everyone in the room is looking at me with concerned looks.

"Huh?" I finally get the chance to speak. "I-uhh… I'm okay." I take a deep breath before adding, "Nice to meet you, too."

"Perfect," Artie says as he clapped his hands once suddenly, startling the rest of us. "Because you'll be roommates and we'd want you to get along well, won't we?" He adds as he grins wider before looking at me, then narrows his eyes at me.

"R-roommate?" I clear my throat after I stutter. "But my room—"

"Has only one bed no more," Artie cuts me off. "Besides, your room has always been too big for one, hasn't it?"

Before I can open my mouth to protest, Artie grabs me and Quinn by the arm and drags us out of the room, with the guys following trailing behind us. "Now, go on," he calls on us. "Get home and get some rest, you all, especially you, Quinnie. You're gonna have the press con in two days. The van's waiting outside. Oh, and don't worry about the room, you two. I've arranged everything."

He leans towards me and whispers, "Behave, Santana. Try to control your rage, 'kay? This one's all good, anyway. You'll like her."

"But—" I start, only to be pushed lightly by our manager to the van.

"Bye, guys. Be safe. Good luck, Quinn." Artie says all of that in a hurry before slamming the van's sliding door shut.

I groan, cross my arms, and sink deeper into my seat.

_I'm so going to kill Abrams._

"Hey," I snap my head towards Quinn who's looking at me, still with a smile in place. "Don't worry, Santana. I don't snore."

I open my mouth, and close it when no words came out. I just nod and look away.

_This is so not good…_

* * *

"You brought a teddy bear?"

Quinn looks at me and nods enthusiastically. "Yes, and I still like wearing pj's."

"What? How old are you? Eight?" I snort. "That'll explain the cartoon bedsheets and everything."

"So the rumors _are_ true," she replies as she gets rid of her smile. "You are mean."

I shrug. "I can't help it. My blood type's B for Bitch."

_And you remind me of someone._

_I hate you._

"Well, I'm twenty, just for the record," she tells me in a quiet voice.

I smirk as I sit down my bed. "What happened to your high spirits?"

"Your negative energy drained it all," she scowls as she lies down her cot and hides under her Toy Story covers.

_I'm such a bitch._

"Yeah, well, good night, Buzz," I chuckle before lying down too and turning my back on Quinn.

_Brittany would have loved her blanket and furry slippers._


End file.
